Without
by Fading Grace
Summary: House without his pills and booze is annoyed. House without his Wilson is... nothing. HouseWilson. It's kind of angst, romance, and humor in one, but then, so is he. COMPLETE
1. Without Wilson

I am addicted, a druggie. I know this. I accept this. I'm hooked on painkillers, on alcohol, on attention. Those are old habits, and I have come to terms with my imperfections.

Without these things, though, what would I be? If I didn't have another pill, I would have withdrawals, as has been proven, and then I would hurt. A lot. But I would live. Without booze, I would be a little more sarcastic, people might notice, and then I'd adjust and probably find a new evening activity. If I didn't have attention I would just be some rotten curmudgeon that no one noticed. Ho-hum sort of thing.

But, logically, everyone has that one thing which will be their downfall, and I've found mine.

* * *

The hospital, for all intents and purposes, was empty. Sure, people and gurneys rushed to and fro, saving lives, being all energetic and annoying. I needed to find _one_ person and _one_ person only, and therefore nothing and no one else mattered and the hospital was empty.

I pushed open Cuddy's door, waved hello to the cross-eyed nicknard that was probably taking a job interview, and sat down on her couch. "Where's Wilson?" I asked, after a moment of stunned silence from my audience. This, here, is what I was talking about with the attention. I swear, it's a kind of ambrosia, a drink of the gods that will forever keep me entertained.

Cuddy found her voice, gave the dweeb an apologetic look, and hurried over to me. "House, not that I think it will help, at least check if I have a meeting in progress before barging in here," she hissed.

I ingored her and heaved a mock-disappointed sigh. "You would know him if you saw him. A little shorter than me? Actually likes people? Boy genius of oncology?" I wagged a scolding finger in her face. "_You_ know. Jimbo. Jimmy. Jim. Famous for the phrase 'Beam me up, Scottie.'"

She raised an impatient eyebrow. "I've never heard Dr. Wilson say that in my life. You must be thinking of a different James."

"I know I am, it's James T. Kirk." I slapped my hand to my forehead in pain at her blank stare. "Star Trek reference! Come on, it's the third greatest quote from the entire original series including movies! The other two are 'Live long and prosper,'" then I did the finger thing, four fingers split down the middle, "and-"

The nerd spoke up, saying excitedly, "'The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few, or the one.' Right? When Spock dies in the second movie?"

I gave him a Look for interrupting, but I nodded and jerked a passably discreet thumb in his direction with my eyebrows up. To Cuddy in a stage whisper I said, "I'm not surprised at him, but, honestly, how can you say that you've lived if you've never watched Star Trek?"

She pinched the bridge of her nose and said, "Wilson's on vacation. He took four days off, something to do with court appearances. Now will you get out of here?"

I stretched out more and made a show of settling in. "I don't remember ever agreeing to something like that."

"House, get out." That was the red flag; she was running out of patience for my lovable antics. Time to scram, and take my own sweet time of it. Darn, and I could have kept going if it had been Wilson. He puts up with me, God only knows why.

"No, please, I don't want to go to school today." I shrugged my shoulders to prove that I really didn't have to go anywhere and levered myself up. "Which courthouse, did you say?"

She turned her back "Find out yourself, he's your friend."

Actually, that had been bothering me. Wasn't he obligated to tell me whenever he was going to go anywhere? Then again, he probably thought that I wouldn't listen. It's not that I don't listen, I just don't respond - I have precious little emotional surety myself that I don't want to mess him up for life, too. Well, come to think of it, I've already done that, but such is life.

I stormed out of the office and called his apartment. No answer, but the voice mail message was enough of a taste of Wilson to tide me over for a few minutes. In his hesitant voice, he said, "You have reached Dr. James Wilson's home phone number. If you are a patient, call my pager at 659-4452 or make an appointment. If you're not a patient, I'm not home, House."

I cracked a smile. So, he didn't have any other friends that called him at home? Who cares if I'm just that cool? He doesn't need any other friends, I'm more than one person can handle.

But I was starting to think that _I _might need other friends, because now I was bored and my minions didn't have a case to work on and they were all working the Clinic already. God rest their souls. I hobbled off to my office to twirl my cane, pop a few pills, and think of when Wilson could have mentioned a court date. Nothing came to mind, Maybe I really didn't listen.

I was in a bad mood. I decided to wander around the waiting room and trip people, because a surprised face is a funny one. Maybe, on the way, I would think of a way to find out where Wilson was.

Cuddy saw me and put me on Clinic duty, the Stalin that she is. 'Don't hit patients,' she says, but then has to go and add, 'or nurses, orderlies, or other doctors.' Where's the fun, I ask you?

"Doc, I shouldn't even be here. My mom's convinced that something's wrong with me," the starry-eyed boy of about thirteen protested the instant I walked in. He would have kept talking if I hadn't slapped the clipboard I held onto the counter.

"You are sweaty and panicky and you're eyes are glassy." He stared at me blankly as I picked up a pen and scribbled on my hand as a test. "That means," I really want to be talking to a sentient being that understands me. "That means that you either have a fever of over a hundred degrees and should be delirious, or you're lying and scared of being found out. Which is it? You been seeing neat little pink elephants on unicycles around?"

He opened his mouth, but, since he had nothing productive to say, I rolled over him. "What does Mother Dearest say that your symptoms are?"

"Well…" he looked around and leaned in close, prompting me to look around in the same way and move back. "She says I'm having nightmares."

"And you have no memory of this?" Yay, some fun with mental blackouts!

"I'm not asleep when she thinks I am… My, uh, friend sneaks over."

A moment of silence.

"Ew," I said, "a skinny little kid is getting laid and I'm left out in the cold. Good going, God, answering all my prayers for some brat!"

"Don't tell my mom! Please, I'll get kicked out of the house!"

"Why, d'you knock her up?" I smelled a sitcom!

"No…" He was definitely nervous.

"Then what's the big-"

"No, not 'she'."

"…Oh."


	2. Without Humility

**Well, a belated hello... I hope you enjoy my first attempt at HouseWilson, but it's turning a little angsty through no fault of my own. House should write a Gospel, you know? He's arrogant enough to pull it off.**

**I don't usually do author's notes, but, in order to keep from interrupting the flow of the story when it comes up, I want you to know that Pachelbel's _Canon in D_ is my favorite classical song. I'm learning it on the piano. The arpeggio I talk about (again, it comes up later) is the first half of the first measure of the treble staff: D, F sharp, A, D in eighth notes and 2/4 time.**

* * *

That kid, the horny gay one, had gone home with a few placebo sleeping pills to reassure his mother and a personal recommendation to find a new meeting place from me. His poor weak-of-heart mum didn't need to hear her son getting it on upstairs.

Still, his words stuck with me. 'A friend sneaks over.' He does that sort of thing with a friend? That's a waste of a perfectly serviceable friendship. What'll happen when they break up? No one ever stays friends with their ex. Honestly. Lose a buddy for a few touches…

Speak of the devil, where the hell is my goddamn Wilson? He should be here, staring at me in disapproval and distaste as I break patient confidentiality to tell him about it. He's always got a problem with something. He would probably think poorly of the kid just because of the gay thing. As far as I can tell, he's all for anything with a skirt, but give him a man and he'll be the perfect doctor, touch nothing he shouldn't, look at nothing in curiosity…

Not that _I _ever do.

Pisshaw, like, ohmigod, get your mind out of the gutter, seriously! Heheh, my mind has fun high school girl ways of changing the subject. It amuses me, so get used to it. What was I talking about? Oh, I remember, not Wilson and not gay sex. Perfect.

I opened a door of the clinic and said "Chase, search through some records," before I looked up from my coffee. Chase was talking to an old man that had his shirt off and was showing a lot of yellowy flab. I shuddered and muttered, "Never mind." Glancing back, I added, "Get this alcoholic in rehab, that jaundice is freaking me out."

Just so that you fully understand and can therefore worship me more wholeheartedly, I knew that one because jaundice is the outward sign of a failing liver. The skin turns yellow because bilirubin (that's this neat pigment made when the body metabolizes hemoglobin) builds up in the skin. Any disease affecting the liver can cause jaundice, but only one lead to a swollen, cirrhosis-covered liver. That guy's stomach looked pretty tender, judging by the way he winced when Chase prodded right where the liver should be.

That, and I'm just that cool.

I tried Foreman next, but he was talking to this really cute new resident doctor and I wouldn't want to take him fr- "I need a work phone number for one Julia Wilson. Stat." He stared at me, disbelief in his eyes. I glanced around in the silence, as innocent as I remember how to be from my earnest studies. "Sorry, did I stutter?"

"Excuse me," the girl hurried off, because everyone has heard of crazy House that'll tell you what you had for breakfast. She'd had pancakes, by the way - some powdered sugar and syrup clung to the edge of her collar.

I'm hungry. Damnit, Wilson, get back here and buy me lunch!

Foreman watched the girl go with a sigh. "Are you stalking Dr. Wilson's wife now?"

In a totally level tone, I rattled off, "I am offended that you would think I could do that."

"Would asking you to be civil with her be just a little too far-fetched?" he asked dryly.

I laughed and took a few steps toward the elevator, not dignifying that with an answer.

Wilson's ex didn't justify me with one, either. On the phone, I mean. Ha, ha - a little turn around for ickle Greggy. Now who's caught playing phone tag? Anyway, her secretary said that she wasn't in, so either I'm on the screening list or both Jimmy and Julia are in court on the same day at the same time.

In my office, I leaned back in my chair and put my feet up, twirling my cane in my right hand, eyes closed. I had a headache, a bad one, so I popped a pill and swallowed it dry. A painkiller kills pain in the head and leg simultaneously, but it was more the habit of the thing. I'm a doctor, it's allowed - I knew the risks of overdose, and that was a ways away.

Huh. I suspected a divorce, but I actually _did_ hear that part so maybe it was best not to say that kind of thing aloud in case Jimmy just so happened to come back and hear.

I lifted my head and opened one eye to check the doorway for looming oncologists. It was empty.

I sank back into my chair in my dark office and tried to fall asleep. This was really messing me up, more than the withdrawals of all my vices put together. It was making me, the almighty, omniscient Gregory House, hope and wish and pray that one James Wilson would walk through my office door.

* * *

I played piano, because my home was a very quiet place when my thoughts were being drawn to something troubling. If I had a case, then I walked the path of the mind with blessings, but if not, I would rather get drunk and pop some prescriptions. Anyway, I played piano. 

I was addicted to alcohol, to painkillers, to the disbelief in other people's eyes…to so many things.

When did I become addicted to Mr. Morals, too? His stupid, persistent caring and listening to anything I say even though I make it obvious that I could care less for him, I mean. I can see his face, disapproving but helpless to stop me. The only one that won't leave when I'm a total ass. No, but he did leave, didn't he? To go to court over his failed marriage that wasn't totally his fault in the first place.

I plinked at the keys of the piano, thinking. Somehow, a song I had learned when I was fifteen came through my fingers and Pachelbel's _Canon in D_ filled the room with a solemn sort of regret. Wilson... James. I would have to track him down quickly, or else I might lose all my innate awesomeness in favor of a depressed little sack of cranky.

My fingers stumbled and I hit the wrong note, just now noticing that I didn't really know this song. I was still only in the opening arpeggios, how hard could it be? I backtracked a measure, the sheet music from days gone by showing in my mind. In eighth-notes: D (I hit the note as I thought it, and it sounded right); F… sharp, and that was right, too; B - no. That was sour.

Wilson wasn't there. Wilson wasn't there, and I was frustrated beyond words. I was frustrated with the fact that, of the first time in almost ten years, I hadn't been able to get a rise out of _literally_ the _easiest_ guy to mess with. But I was even more frustrated by my reaction - I was like a lovesick girl, waiting for her boyfriend over summer break. I wasn't being as untouchable, as indefatigable, as I wanted to be.

Being reachable meant being breakable. I've broken too many times for this.

I slammed my hands down on the smooth keys, ripping a tortured scream from my poor, defenseless, loyal piano.

The note I was looking for was A. I remembered now. But I didn't care, because Wilson wasn't there.

* * *

**Tell me if there is a typo - they horrify me, and I want to fix them as much as is possible. I think that a mistake in typing or writing makes the authoress seem a little dim, and I would hate to fall in my readers' eyes. Review?**


	3. Without Restraint

I called in sick to work, but, since I was talking to Chase at the time, I described my illness as 'extreme chafing and a clingy hooker'. I swear, if I ever have kids, I'll describe as many things as possible to them before they even know what an aneurism _is_.

Unlikely, though. That I'll have kids. They get too many runny noses, they whine and complain, and don't have the mental capacity to keep from talking to me. That and the fact that the only women interested in me are either a) married, b) my boss, or c) both my minion and half my age. Hormones suck.

Instead of going to work, I woke up early (Cuddy would die of happiness if I put even half this energy into my job) and did some recreational lurking outside Jimmy's little woman's office. After all, I couldn't just show up at Jimmy's house - hah, Jimmy was probably inside his house at the moment, and if you don't get what I mean you have no place here - because if I _did_ show up at his house, he might think I was stalking him. Or, probably worse, that I cared about where he was.

Which I didn't. I didn't care about anything but me.

Julia didn't show up, and eventually, after half an hour of trying to keep the people in the waiting room on their toes (and out of the way of my pacing), I asked the secretary when she would get there, damn it. The secretary gave me an I-doubt-she'll-see-you-when-she-does look and checked the schedule. The next day, she would be back. So I nonchalantly asked the secretary where I could find Ms. Not-Wilson-Anymore _today_.

At Judge Insert-Lame-TV-Name-Here's divorce court. Okay. I could manage that. Conveniently, it was only five blocks away, so I skipped right on over with a merry smile upon my face at the prospect of seeing dear James again.

Oh yeah, and the muscles of my thigh magically regrew and I swooped Stacey away from her husband and lived happily ever after.

Right. Sarcasm aside, I hopped on my bike (God how I love that beauty) and rode to the court house. Dare I say that I was excited? Or, gasp, even giddy? If I had been going to see James Wilson, oncologist, I could've cared less. But now I was dropping a surprise visit on my friend _in the middle of a court proceeding_ and his name happened to be Jimmy. Oh, and he also happened to be the cause of my hand twitching a bit spasmodically on the gas. Maybe I cared, a little.

Christ, who am I kidding? He had been the only thing on my mind since he hadn't turned out for muster. Damn Vicodin was getting to me, after all those years. It was to be expected, after all.

Still, I pushed her just a little faster. This is Jimmy we're talking about.

When I got there, the guard wouldn't let me in. Something about disturbing Judge Powdered-Wig's court.

I waited until all those stuffy pole-firmly-up-ass people came out the doors, walked in, and found that the next case to be heard was to be Wilson v. Not-Wilson-Anymore.

Perfect timing. I like being God's favorite.

Jimmy launched into a speech to His Honor Johnny J. Two-By-Four about why he should keep the tools, since Julie wouldn't be needing them (I hadn't seen him with half-constructed cabinets in front of him in all the time I'd known him, so obviously his need was greater. Actually, a companion to that thought; Jimmy with his shirt gone with the exertion of sawing and hammering and I need less alone time with my mind). Funny thing, that speech he was giving seemed very familiar. Maybe he had it written down somewhere, and just changed a very words accordingly.

He finished, and I wasdeprived of the deep sound of his voice (it was too tense and serious, I couldn't wait until I had it laughing again). The robe-y man was about to bang the gavel, so I said, "I object!" as loud as I could. Since I was in the front row, this was pretty up there on the list of things to be listening to.

Jimmy instantly stopped breathing. The only way to describe the tension in his shoulders and back was 'the physical equivalent of a horror movie scream'. "Please, ignore the disgruntled gimp."

"What is going on here?" GavelMan (cue TrojanMan theme music) demanded as murmurs sprang up all through the courtroom.

"Well, I stopped by to see if Jimmy needed any witnesses for the murder trial, but it appears that you haven't found out about that yet so I'll be in the hall until you're finished." I stood up, leaning on my cane, and clapped Jimmy on the back (physical contact - why did I swear off it, again?) saying, "You've got 'em fooled so far, Capone."

And I sat giggling in the hall for another hour because I had found my Wilson. Am I like that guy in that movie who got stuck on an island and went crazy talking to a bloodied volleyball? Wilson, Wilson, I'm sorry I couldn't stop you floating away in the middle of the ocean! Wilson, come back! No, you're my best friend, I love you!

What?

What did I just say?


	4. Without Shame

Alright, so I've been anticipating The Conversation with to mild trepidation. I'm not sure if I did alright on this one. I mean, I've gotten shining praise all around for my rendition of the most entertaining guy out of a lab coat (and thank you all for the encouragement!) but this might be... off. Tell me what you think.

Oh, and, for those of us not reaised on Star Trek, Uhura is the black, female, _hot_ communications officer in the original show, and George Takei played Sulu, her boyfriend. In case you start to wonder later on.

* * *

"I can _not_ believe you just did that," Jimmy said, horror and mortification in every syllable. It was a really fun thing to wake up to. Alright, I wasn't really sleeping, but I had been thinking a bit and that's never good news for the universe. Court had apparently recessed while I wasn't in. 

"I know, it was really _cool_, wasn't it?" I gushed, welcoming back my inner cheerleader with open arms. "I'm amazed that Judge," for the name I affected a flawless Irish accent, doubt you not, "Seamus O'Flaherty didn't have you clapped in irons and fingerprinted slash cavity searched." (Mmm, good idea. Write that one down.)

Jimmy ran a hand down his face. As I followed it down, I noticed puffy eyes and down-turned lips. "I'm going through a _divorce_, House, it's not a joke. Now he's going to think I'm not taking it seriously!"

"Gee whiz, James, heaven forbid a man on his third marriage _and_ divorce should be a bit laid-back about the whole thing." I hit his shoe with the end of my cane, 'pisshaw' on the tip of my tongue. He looked ready kill, though, so I settled for, "Come on, the first was practice, the second a dress rehearsal; now it's your chance on Broadway!" He didn't seem to appreciated the jazz hands and overly peppy smile I offered, but I did them anyway. Just because Jimmy doesn't properly appreciate them doesn't mean I should deny the world my awesomeness.

He looked at the sky for a moment, chewing on his bottom lip. My mind wanted to say something about it (first on the list: '_I can do that for you…' _; close second was '_You don't chew your lip when you're frustrated, Jimmy, you sigh and shake your head'_) but I couldn't because he really was thrown for a loop. He brought his eyes down to stare at me, and I could read him like a book. He said, "Are you stalking me, or something?"

I let my shoulders sag as he disregarded the tension and smiled. "I didn't even go to_ your_ House," (come on, give me a break - the look on his face was priceless) "this morning, I went to Julie's work and muscled my way through till I got some addresses."

He slid onto the standard park bench next to me, the grin he'd found not reaching his eyes or voice as he chuckled, "In other words, you waited around until she didn't come in and asked where you could find her."

"She's a woman, Jimmy, I felt obligated to make sure she was safe."

His raised his eyebrows and nudged me with his elbow. "Oh? Did you ruin _my_ case instead of _hers_ on accident, or something?"

I nudged back. "You're worse than a woman; you're **_my_** woman." I broke into a bit of laughter, and he eventually followed suit. "Anyway, I thought we agreed I was perfect in every way? I don't make mistakes _that_ big. Except that time with the tequila, cold compresses and rabies shots all around."

He leaned his elbows on his knees, hands clasped together. "You sure you didn't come because you missed me? I wonder how long it took you to even notice I was gone."

I affected a pout and whined, "What kind of friend do you take me for?"

"You didn't notice that I was gone until you paged for a consult over something profoundly funny or stupid," he scolded.

"Well, yes, that too. Did you know Cuddy's not a Trekkie? She would make a great Uhura, you see, she's got the right," I held my hands in front of my chest, struggling over the next word, and finished "intelligence."

"I can almost see her straddling George Takei with black boots and a short skirt," Jimmy droned. "But, really, why'd you come?"

I stared ahead for a few seconds, and said quietly, "Because I wasn't around for the first one, but I was for the second, and you were a mess." I brightened, looked at him, and worked to stand up. "After all, you're nothing with a wife _and_ girlfriend _and_ friend-with-benefits to run back to."

"You sure know how to twist the knife."

"Masochist. You wouldn't be around if you didn't like it." I started walking in the direction of my bike and waved an arm. "Come on, let's hang out at my house. But drive your own car."

"Why should I? I still have two days off, I should be treating this as a vacation, since it's the only one I'll get for another six months."

"Just come, you crybaby." I watched him sit for a moment longer and added, "There's beer."

"Fine, fine," he sighed, standing and heading for his car. "I'll meet you there." Swayed by alcohol. What an addict.

…Says the guy that can't help but stare at Wilson's back as he walks away.

This was bad. He had been chewing on his lip, with meant he was conflicted, and he hadn't even _been_ angry when appropriate, so he was a bit detached from the world. And, from his face, though it was carefully shaven and straight-laced, my Jimbo hadn't been sleeping. Damn and blast, he was trying to make a decision. Why not just tell me what it was about and ask my advice or something?

Divorce!Wilson was really bad for my nerves. Plus, a small part of me was wondering if he had missed me, too. This wasn't good at all; now I was going to be all sighing-schoolgirl-after-childhood-friend forever. Damn hormones and addictions and chemicals in all forms. It's not as though any real emotion has to do with this, right?


	5. Without Honesty

**Yay for odd humor. As always, tell me about any typos, and please read happily! (I'm not sure what I mean by that. Like, 'be happy as you read'? 'Be happy because you're reading'...?)**

* * *

Much though I love my bike, faster than Jimmy with the promise of beer she is not. I walked up to my door to find it open, and leaned inside. "If you're already here, the money's on the bedside table and I'd prefer it if you'd take all your clothes off first!"

Jimmy leaned his head back from the couch, so that he was looking at me upside down. I don't know who he picked that habit up from, but I'll have to shake their hand sometime, because it made him look incedibly bedroom-y. Wait, wasn't it me? I rock! "I'm the only one here, House, and you know it."

I walked in and closed the door behind me, limping over to the couch and the pills I keep stashed in the cushions for just such Wilson-in-a-bad-mood occasions. "Well, that's good news. So kind of you, saving me all that trouble and money of having to rent someone." As I slid down next to him, I sighed with relief for my leg and said, "But, honestly, are you really that lonely, Jimmy?"

He handed me an open bottle and kept watching a football game as I popped a few pills and chased them with blessed alcohol (forever my favorite combination). After a few moments, he said, "You're only indirect like that when you actually care about hurting a person's feelings by asking."

I shot back, "You only watch football when you really, really want to see someone have the crap beaten out of him."

He rolled his eyes and changed the channel to _Amnesia, MI,_ my regular soap. He rubbed his eyes again, took a drink, and cast about for a conversation. "Who's the brunette?"

"That's Cindy. She used to be Dana's live-in housekeeper, but she moved away last season and is only visiting for this episode. She's been secretly dating Dana's brother Dean the entire time she's been gone, though." I glanced at his bottle, which was almost gone as it was, and went on, "Honestly, she shouldn't get her hopes up; He's twice her age, there's no way he's serious."

"Hey, I take offense at that."

"Yeah, whatever, Casanova." And that was it, wasn't it? The conversation died again, and I felt acutely uncomfortable. I used to be content to sit in silence forever, especially around Jimmy. It used to be a game, testing how long he could go before being all nitpicky and nagging me about something. It used to be so easy. What happened?

"What happened to us, House?" Jimmy said swirling the quarter of an inch of booze in the bottom of his bottle before downing it. "I was the upstanding one. I was the moral one. Am I just fooling myself, like you are?"

"You're not a very nice drunk," I nudged him. He dropped his head and snorted, setting the beer down. "Listen, you _still are_ the annoying guy that quotes Scriptures or whatever at me. And, as an added bonus, I listen, sometimes."

He looked up, smiling. "You really suck at cheering people up, Greg."

My breath caught. Of course it didn't mean anything. Jimmy always called me that when he was drinking. And when he was…I don't know…messed up about something. So it didn't mean anything. "I'm better than you are, cancer boy."

"It's my _job_ to tell them, I'm the one that depresses people. And you…you give people hope. We're quite the pair, you and I."

And this could have been following a different route. I could see it in my head, the way it could have been playing out.. "I know, I always expected to be face-down in a ditch by now, too. But I just have a gift, it's really…"

"Miraculous?" he supplied.

"Annoying. People start expecting me to do nice things to them." I pressed my half-finished drink into his hand and stood up to hobble (without my trusty cane, and relying mostly on the wall) to the refrigerator for another. I waved him off when he started to get it himself. "_You_ don't expect me to do nice things to you, do you, Jimmy?"

"House," (my back was turned, so I winced at the last name again) "I shudder to think what you would count as a nice thing to do to someone." I got the 'fridge open, grabbed two drinks, and turned back around, kicking the door closed with my otherwise somewhat useless right leg. As I staggered back, he really did get up to help. It would have royally pissed me off if I hadn't let the last five years slip out of my mind and stepped on my right leg.

My right leg, as one might surmise, didn't enjoy this.

So I gave an undignified yelp of pain and toppled, slowly and inevitably, toward the ground. James caught me at about a sixty-degree angle, so I was basically leaning against him like a fool. Holding my breath, I limped (this was the honest, pathetic sort of limping, sinking inches as I worked to bend my leg and somehow keep the weight off it, every other step tightening my hold on Jimmy's shoulder) to the couch and sank down gratefully.

He sat down, too, and we didn't say anything for a few minutes. Eventually, I said, "Sorry."

"'S not your fault," he denied immediately.

"You don't need to be worrying about my problems right now, too." I pinched the bridge of my nose, feeling a headache coming on.

He rolled his eyes at me. I saw him start to think about something, could see the wheels turning as the different emotions crossed his face, and I wasn't surprised when he had something serious to say. "Are we still friends?"

Hmm. Very important question, James. Best option: pretend it doesn't matter. "Of course."

"But not the same as before."

Damn, he was going to be persistent. I ran my fingers through my hair, letting my head fall, and said, "No, not like before."

"Greg, why not? What changed?" He waited until I looked up at him and finished, "It wasn't me."

Batten down the hatches, we're under attack! "Leave it to you to pick up on it."

"So, what's wrong?"

I took a swig. He was going to have to guess, on this one - _I_ was sure as hell not telling.

"Is it that you're met a pretty girl and you're going to settled down?"

That triggered a coughing fit. "Do you honestly see me with a woman?"

"Good point. New case?"

"No." The key was a straight face.

"Are you suddenly in love with me?"

"Nope." Straight face, stay calm, and he'll disregard it.

"Are you sneaking extra pills?"

"I would be nicer, wouldn't I?"

"Greg, what's the problem?" he demanded, getting frustrated. I would be, too, faced with me.

But I couldn't tell him. Gregory House doesn't care about anyone or anything other than himself.


	6. Without Silence

The next day, Jimmy helpfully woke me up an hour before I was supposed to be at work. I was facedown on my bed, drooling over half my pillow, when he flicked me on the arch of my foot like those annoying doctors do to babies. I sympathize with you, o drowsy babies of the world. I promise not to flick your feet anymore unless I'm moderately sure you're already dead or dying.

And with that morbid thought, I groaned myself into another sunny day, wondering how the hell Jimmy had persuaded me to let him stay over. Then I fumbled blearily for my cane, to have him hand it _and_ a plate with something egg-ish and fluffy to me. Oh, I remember - our Jimmy's the perfect housewife, so I had been the one to suggest he stay over.

"Why am I up this early?" turned into "Why am I eating really good eggs?" on the way to my mouth. He was already cleaning up the kitchen (which I do, in fact, keep moderately clean, thank-you-so-much) and didn't answer. Duh. I scrambled to my feet and hopped in the shower, singing an obnoxiously garbled version of _Singin' in the Rain _for Jimmy's enjoyment. As I stepped out and grabbed my cane from where it stood against the wall, I saw a strategically placed razor and a towel next to it. Damn Jimmy and his plans to make me shave every week. I shrugged and picked it up anyway - I might as well cater to the fool's last wishes.

Whistling on my way out of my room, haphazardly dressed, I bumped into Jimmy in the hallway and winked. "Morning, Cinderella."

"Are you Sleeping Beauty, then?" he rolled his eyes, grinning that impish grin that always made me think of pulling a prank on someone. Yum, the souls of the innocent.

I leaned in conspiratorially and whispered, "Only if you really think I'm a beauty."

He brushed past me, doing something busy, and I chuckled as I scrounged around in my living room from my shoes. I could hear him in the next room, so I raised my voice. "Tell me again why I'm up this early?"

"It takes twenty minutes to drive there. You have five more to get out the door."

"Ew, but then I'll be on time," I whined. "I don't wanna!"

He came into the room, a tie hanging from his hand. "You're a child." I winced as I slipped my sneakers on, and leaned away when he tried to wrap the tie around my neck. "And you're going to wear a tie today, for once in your life."

I sighed and let him knot it for me, taking a guilty pleasure in the attention and the careful fingers that were tucking the silk under my miraculously straight collar. "Mmm, I bet I look pretty as a picture," I grumbled sarcastically. "You'd be a great mom."

He paused for a moment, debating something, and the smiled as he started fidgeting with my clothes. "I'd make a better mom than Julia, that's for sure."

My hands came up to stop his, and he look at me with a question. I cut him off, since he couldn't have anything more important to say than I did. "So you're okay now?" _With the divorce_. I didn't dare say the d-word around him.

"You're the one that said I should be used to it by now," he said, evading the question. I let it go, and started heading for the door, Jimmy following me with minor worries.

Hand on the doorknob, I turned back to look at him. "You can hang out here as long as you like, if your apartment seems too cagey." He still had another day off work, after all. "But you can't make prank calls from my phone; every old lady in the city recognizes it on caller ID."

He looked around at the debris that had collected since the last time I'd felt move enough to try my hand with a vacuum cleaner. "I'm sure the rabid animals in your carpet will keep me busy."

I laughed, my honest, Jimmy's-done-something-cute sort of chuckling. "You know," I started, catching his eye, "I really do love you."

Damn. It.

His smile dropped immediately, and I walked out the door and hopped on my bike. Oops.

I ran into Chase and Cameron in the front lobby on their way in, and they both gawked. "House? What're you doing here?" the British (heehee) little upstart asked.

I slowed down, waving in the general direction of the rest of the hospital. "I work here. Remember me from two days ago? All the fun times we've had?"

"No, what are you doing here this early?" Cameron asked, crossing her arms. "And why are you wearing a _tie_?"

"Someone woke me up on time, and demanded I wear a tie, okay?" I signed in and started walking past them with no further explanation, and I just knew they were still staring as Cuddy fell into step next to me. "Hello, pretty lady, are you my mommy?" I winced as it reminded me of the conversation earlier.

"Something's wrong."

"A new case? Did someone break out in inexplicable hives after seeing one of your old videos from your mud-wrestling days?"

"House." I stopped and turned to her, keeping my eyes on the wall. "You're _dressed_. If your own mother ordered you into a tie, you wouldn't do it."

"How would you know?"

"I've tried it," she bit out.

I remembered my mother calling me up one day and casually mentioning my disregard for the dress code. "Gasp, that was you? I thought she was just being overly interested in my daily life again."

She sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. "Just tell me who, so I can shake their hand."

"I don't kiss and tell," I said, sticking my tongue out at her. She huffed and stalked off, shaking her head. "Bye-bye, pretty lady," I whistled under my breath.

Wilson ran into my office a minute after I sat down. "You _ass_!"

"Hello to you, too, sweetie."

He pointed an incriminating finger at me. "I can't believe this. You would go this far just to screw with me?"

_I'd do a lot to screw with you, _I thought to myself.I stood up, wanting to be on equal ground, and said, "You don't believe me?"

"Of course not!" He took a deep breath and ran a hand over his eyes. "You lie about everything, if it'll get a reaction out of a person. You once told me my dog had 'accidentally gotten underfoot' of your car."

I scoffed, "That was three years ago."

"You abducted him for a week! I was getting ready to have a little funeral for him!"

I watched him for a moment, the Jimmy grin creeping back across my face. Better not to say anything, right?

He stepped closer, hands in fists, glaring. "You're an inconsiderate bastard! You can't tell someone you love them just for a laugh. It's not right! Especially not right after they get out of divorce court!"

I couldn't stop myself. "I figured I'd catch you on the rebound."

He looked like he was having an apoplectic fit. I shifted my weight and opened my mouth to say something else, but his fist helpfully closed it again. And then he left, slamming the door on his way out.

* * *

**I was so, so, so tempted to end this chapter after the 'I really do love you' thing. Be happy. It would have helped the suspense, hmm? So great, though! I started giggling!**


	7. Without Decision

A hyperbaric chamber is a sealed clean room used for treating burns, gangrene, embolisms, and sorta-okay lungs. It creates a pressurized environment that forces pure oxygen into the patient's bloodstream, so, instead of about twenty percent oxygen, the patient receives _upwards_ of one hundred.

It's also quiet, and a good place to think through a major, injury-related headache.

I rubbed my jaw, disgruntled about having submitted and shaved that morning, because now I didn't have my ultra-sexy stubble and, with my lucky charm gone, my day had completely blown. I had sat in my office, popped a couple painkillers to combat the really, really insistent, fist-shaped pain source on my face. Then, since God needed a giggle, Cameron had called me for a consult only because she 'suspected' a tumor in a clinic patient. While I was there, Cuddy had conveniently stopped by to remind me of my utter lack of patients and the backlogged Clinic hours I still owed. God, I hate hypochondriacs with overactive acne (they tend to think it's a plague of boils, and I'm not saying any more about that).

Alright. Let's think this over. I told Jimmy that I loved him, and he punched me. Not the best reaction, granted, but at least he hadn't shanked me or something stupid and irresponsible like that, since my Jimmy is far from irresponsible and isn't stupid all the time. Maybe now he could simmer down and start to realize how much he actually _didn't_ want to kill me. That would be marvelous.

Still, he didn't believe me, which meant that I was stuck sitting on my hands until we had a (shudder) heart-to-heart talk about staying friends or not. Which absolutely sucked since I'm not the type to stay quiet about anything. Contrary to what I had said to Cameron and Chase, I _do_ kiss and tell. Bragging is half the fun of actually kissing, after all. It doesn't count if no one says congratulations, or at least that horrified look of repression.

Damn you, Wilson. I feel like you hit with something red and made of clay. What're those things called? Bricks, someone in the back of my mind supplied. Oh, right, bricks. I knew that. I'd just turned into an idiot ever since I had started looking for some guy that used to be my best friend.

Damn, damn, damn. Me and my big mouth. Someone fetch me a gun. This was why I invented nurses, after all.

All because I was addicted to Jimmy.

The door opened, but it was only to the outer chamber, so it only made my ears pop a little bit. I kept my eyes closed as I lay stretched out on the little cot, really, really hoping that it wasn't who I knew it was.

"Cuddy wants you to know that it's stupid to schedule a patient with a broken leg for a hyperbaric treatment," Dr. James Wilson said. I cringed.

"Well, since it turns out the patient doesn't need it, I decided not to waste the reserved time."

"You knocked other people off the list to sit in here and angst?"

"I wonder why I should have cause to angst?" I finally opened my eyes to glare at him, but he had his eyebrows raised, in an almost-neutral expression. "Get out of here. You have the day off."

He scratched the back of his neck, making him look absolutely adorable, and chuckled. "I didn't want to go back to your apartment after I hit you, so I was hanging out in my office. Cuddy found me and asked me to 'reason with him, for God's sake.'" The studied way he kept his voice level made me laugh, and I laboriously pulled myself into a sitting position, opposite form where he at on the medic's stool. We were almost touching heads, so small was the space.

"Yeah, she totally wants me."

He got quiet, as though he had just thought, '_Speaking of, House said he loved me._' Oh yeah. He's really getting better at hiding his emotions. (Not.)

I spared him from having to say anything more by leaning down until I was in his field of vision, though I must have looked comical. "So, in other news, are we still friends?" At the very least?

He chuckled, at how childish I was acting, probably, and said, "Of course."

"But not the same as before." My mouth curved in spite of myself at the parallel conversation.

"No, not like before."

I ached to ask what I really wanted to know. _Is there any possibility of being more than friends?_ But there are things that you don't ever, ever say.

Besides, I had the terrible feeling that I knew the answer already.

As I straightened up in my seat, he sighed, looking for another subject. "So, are you going to sit in here for much longer? It'll damage your lungs."

"I don't see any point in angsting if you're going to insist on interrupting my thoughts," I responded, anticipating the question.

He pressed the button to depressurized the little white chamber, and I laughed as he held his nose to clear his ears. "You know, there's a much more dignified way of doing that."

"What?" He still had his nose pinched, though, so it came out as, 'Wagn?'

"Press your tongue to the back of your throat, like you're yawning. It works."

I suddenly flashed on the image of pressing him back against the wall and demonstrating by placing his tongue exactly where I wanted it to be, but I shoved it out before I really had time to process it. Not the time or place.

So he tried again and got it, and he laughed a little until he saw that I wasn't joining in. "Greg?"

I shivered. "Let's go, before the time is up."

He opened the door, letting himself out and reaching to take my cane as I shuffled through with difficulty.

"You know, everyone is saying that you have a girlfriend now," he mentioned, as if in passing.

I answered quickly, "I didn't want to explain how my best friend had managed to convince me of the impossible."

He grinned, and finished, "…It's either a girlfriend or a 'clingy hooker'." As I dredged up the memory of the excuse I had used, he stepped closer. "You really can't pull off a tie, can you, House?"

As he easily unknotted and removed some of the evidence that he had spent the nightin my apartment, I wanted to laugh at the thought. Again, it wasn't the time or place.

Before we left the room, I turned back and looked at the lifeless white chamber. Things could have gone differently, if I had had the balls to say some things and do others.

But it will never be the time or place.

* * *

**A/N: **The end...? 

Mmm, it's unlikely. That would just be cruel, right? (maniacal laughter) But still, I kind of want to keep this up until thirteen chapters. For, uh...no reason. Heehee. Anyway, what do you vote? Is it good as it is, or shall I continue the torture? Be forewarned, it might not be satisfying to have the emotions remain unresolved, but it is how I think their friendship is really seated. If I continue, the tension will start, and, for another six chapters, it won't come to anything.

Possibly. I'm not responsible enough to write the chapters in advance. (Heh, I don't even have a plotline for this story. I just wait until I'm inspired by something.)

If you're wondering how I pulled a hyperbaric chamber out of the sky, I just got back from an engineering camp, and I was poking around the deep-sea diving area. Lo and behold, a white _thing_ was just begging to be questioned. I asked so many questions, I think I gave the poor guy whiplash...


	8. Without Remorse

Okay, meinen Liebchen. I'll continue it, but only until chapter thirteen. Oh, and I'm not intending toleave it unresolved (subject to change) as much as frustrating that it's taking so long. Anyway, I wanted this to show how House is thinking at this point. Um, it's actually angst-ish, only funny. I feel bad for this...tell me if it's just stupid, okay?...

* * *

I sat in my office, lights dimmed, occasionally hitting myself in the face with my oversized tennis ball. 

Jimmy was still my friend. My _best_ friend. But not in the same way. _Thwap_. And whose fault was that? He had known the night before; we _weren't_ the same, not since the moment I thought the 'l' word. _Thwap._

God, I couldn't even think it. From now on, the 'l' word will be described by something non-sexual, unromantic, and utterly without connotation. Oh, I have it.

Don't you dare laugh.

So this sudden-onset 'rubber ducky' was ruing my life, basically. I was all resolved! He had asked me point-blank, and I had said no, and he had accepted it! Things would have been better and easier if he wasn't so gullible. If he had thought, even once, that, oh yeah, _I lie about sensitive things_, right then would have been the perfect time to call me on a bluff! If you ask a question, be prepared for the answer! _Thwap._

He had asked it rhetorically. Of course he wasn't prepared for an affirmative answer; he accepted my no without interruption of thought. Because you don't share a rubber ducky with your best friend. It's just not done; you could lose a friendship. A rubber ducky is meaningless if the person you want to share said rubber ducky with ha- (_Thwap. _I couldn't think this one either) possesses an anti-ducky. That way if you give the friend the innocent-bystander-ducky then he'll destroy the universe. Basic law of Star Trek; matter and anti-matter do not make pretty babies together.

Neither would we. I really needed to think this through. If Wilson eventually said yes, I wouldn't ever have kids, and neither would he. Was I willing to give that up? _Thwap._ Of course I was! I never really intended to have kids anyway. But what about Jimmy? I'd never talked about it with him. Or, if he had mentioned trying to get pregnant with a wife, I never listened.

Why would he want to share a rubber ducky with me? Damn. Why do I have to be such an ass all the time? I drove Stacey away, I drove Cameron away (albeit on purpose), and now I was driving Wilson away. Damn antisocial tendencies. They had never driven Wilson away before, but I crossed that damn line and said the rubber ducky word and now he was going to be distant and vague and I would have to find someone else to lean on when I wanted to break my hand.

"House?" Cameron poked her head through the doorway, peering in the dark. "What are you doing?"

I realized that I had been staring at the ball for five minutes straight without moving. Taking a deep breath, I replaced the toy and looked at her. "Just thinking. Why?"

"You looked like you wanted to kill yourself."

"Why would I want to do that?"

She sighed, and shook her head, but came into the room. "What's wrong?"

I let my cane thud onto the floor absentmindedly, as I studied her warily. "I'm not going to tell you."

"Don't be like that. Come on, spill, I can't have you beating yourself up over a girl." She sat in the chair on the other side of the room, leaning forward. "At least give me a name."

I faked enthusiasm, raising my eyebrows and nodding. "No."

She rolled her eyes and tried again. "Is it serious? She convinced you to wear a tie, for the beginning of the day, at least."

"I'm not very into girl talk. Ooo, wait, let me try. Oh my God, Becky, look at her butt, it is _so big_."

"How long?"

I wagged my finger. "Ah-ah-ah, you've got to be more specific."

She sighed, and asked, "How long have you two been going out?"

"We aren't." Hah, that question hurt more than expected. Good thing I'm naturally sarcastic, or that fake happiness would never have gone over well.

Her eyes narrowed in suspicion. "How long have you know her?"

"Ten long and uneventful years."

"Is it Stacey Warner? House, she's _married_, have some self-respect."

"It's not."

"Then who?"

"Not telling."

"_You_? You slept with someone and you refuse to tell anyone? It's amazing and aggravating all at once."

_"Ah._ That's the thing, we didn't sleep together."

She was about ready to ask something else when, low and behold, the target of my bothersome rubber ducky opened the door.

"Um, House, sorry, but Cuddy got me working again today," (No, he requested the end of his vacation. He was smiling and looking worried, so he was lying) "so I can't take a lunch break, since I was late getting in."

"Okay," I agreed immediately. He was avoiding me. Oh well. "Tomorrow, then. You have to give me all the juicy details of divorce court."

He looked confused for a second, and I nodded at Cameron. "Oh. Right, yeah. See you tomorrow."

And he left. Cameron was staring at me.

"What? Have I got bits of tennis ball on my forehead?" I sneered. "Or are you going to say something about having to ask this 'girl' of mine out?"

"No," she breathed. "You just got _the_ _most_ sappy look on your face."

"Are you sure you aren't hallucinating? Too many antidepressants will do that to you." I shifted uncomfortably in my chair.

"God, House. I had no idea."

"You're not making sense. And that's not fair."

"House," she said quietly, as though someone was outside the door trying to listen, "you love Wilson."

"Do not."

"How do you explain that look, then?"

"God's will?"

She stood up. "You have to tell him, he's your best friend, he'll understand!"

I watched her for a moment. "Can't, the anti-ducky will destroy the universe." She was satisfactorily confused by that. "Tell me, if I broke my own hand, would you tell Cuddy?"

"What? Of course. Why, are you planning on doing that?"

I smiled ruefully. "No thanks, it hurt enough the first time." I got up and walked out, leaving her staring after me.

Damndamndamn. Now someone else knew. I was never going to hear the end of it.


	9. Without Composure

Wow, four reviews for the last chapter. That was a bit below par. Hmm. Anyway, I had fun writing this chapter. Hooray for arguements!

* * *

I hate Clinic duty. 

A middle-aged black-haired man was sitting on the examination table, looking as disgruntled as I felt. That rubber-ducky-murdering bastard had been on my mind all afternoon, and I was prepared to give him a piece of my mind. This was probably a bad time to talk to him, therefore, since it would make things worse.

"So, what's wrong with you?" I muttered, slapping my clipboard onto the counter with a satisfying smack.

He jumped at the loud noise, but then fell back into glaring at me. "That's your job to figure out."

"I can't figure anything out unless you tell me the symptoms, you idiot."

He crossed his arms and looked away petulantly.

I stewed in my own foul mood for three minutes more, and then grabbed the nurse call phone thingy. The thing that I talk into and the nurses do my bidding. Yeah, that. This move, just for the record, was a bad one, and I realize that now.

When I set the phone back down, the patient looked genuinely worried. "You're calling a consult? Is there anything wrong?"

"Yeah, my stupid patient won't let me examine him. Therefore, I can only assume the worst. I'm calling an oncologist, and I'll give you three guesses as to what that means," I snarled with gusto.

"Doesn't that mean… something about cancer?"

"You betcha." I watched his paling face with relish as we waited for Wilson to arrive. Really, really bad idea. Everyone knows that you can't have a proper arguement if you're mad.

Wilson arrived, looking pissed. Good, it's better to start on equal ground. He crossed the room to grab the other chair, set it in front of me with a crash, and sat down. "Fine, you've got me here. What is it?"

The patient (bloody fool that he was) started explaining himself. "I wouldn't let him examine me and now he thinks it's cancer-"

"_What do you need?_" he repeated, cutting the guy off.

"I know you want to avoid me and hope that this'll go away now, but it won't," I started, proud of how calm I managed to sound. "This isn't resolved, not really."

"It _is_ resolved. Remember, we had a nice, long talk about it? Or was the oxygen pressure kind of blurring that out?"

"It's not resolved to my satisfaction."

"What the hell are you talking about? We're still friends, what more can you want?"

I gave him a Look. He turned away. "You don't realize how serious I am."

He took a slow breath, looking out the window. "I don't love you back." That hurt, a lot. Nothing less than expected, but still, I worked hard not to show it on my face. "But I love the friendship we have, so, please, can we keep it?"

I took a moment to think, even though I already knew the answer to that. "No, we can't. You know that you're my only friend, but I can't do it. I'm not so 'in control' of my emotions as you are."

"You think that this is control?" he said suddenly. "Do you really think that I'm ever going to be able to look you in the eye without remembering that you said you love me?"

I glowered at him for a moment. "I don't really need you to love me back. I just can't be around you all the time. There's no telling what I'll do."

"Do you really?" he whispered, looking like a kicked dog. "I don't have any friends, either. Do you really think that we can't just stay at this level?"

The patient, whom we had been utterly ignoring, was looking between the both of us with horror scrawled across his face. "What the hell is going on here? You guys are gay?"

I grimaced, and rounded on him instead. "You're impotent, and embarrassed about it. It's not prostate cancer or an STD, since you would have mentioned if you were peeing blood or having touch-and-go issues. Go get yourself some Viagra, alright? Just shove off."

He drew himself up, indignant. The effect was ruined by the paper gown the nurse had had him put on. "What are your names?"

"Dr. Cameron," I lied automatically.

Wilson's eyes narrowed as he said, "Gregory House."

I rolled my eyes. How childish. I stalked over to the door, and paused before leaving. "I might have been able to stay at the level we were about before, but it's not the same anymore."

"That doesn't-" I slammed the door behind me before I heard what he was going to say.

* * *

"So you're not friends anymore?" Cameron asked, after I had explained everything to her. As I shook my head slowly, she said, "This is bad."

"Tell me about it."

"Can you handle this? You've been around him all the time for the last ten years, and now that you know you love him, you're just going to stop?"

I groaned. "I'm socially retarded. Is that what you want to hear?"

"It's a start." She watched me, sitting in the chair, as I had my head on my arms. "So I'm your partner in crime now, right?"

"I guess so. Why, does it give you the warm and fuzzies to know that you're helping someone? We haven't had a case in a few weeks. I bet that razor at home is really mocking you for not doing anything saint-worthy."

"You know, I have no idea what you see in Wilson if you can't stand me. We both care about our patients."

"Well, yeah, but he's _Jimmy_. He puts up with everything. He can have an intelligent conversation. You have no idea what we've been through together."

"And you're the only one that loves the other."

"Yup." I grabbed my cane and knocked my forehead against the handle. "Pathetic, huh?" She was silent for a moment, and I looked over at her. "I don't like that look. You're going to say something that completely ruins my day _more_."

"You know how you lie about sensitive things?"

"Uh…yeah. I was there, I think." I mimed thinking, and continued, "At least most of the time…"

"How do you know that he didn't?"


	10. Without Discretion

...Wow. People are finding out (slash have known) left and right in this chapter... Teehee. I liked thinking up the 'Cameron/House' thing with the patient in the last chapter, and I already had plans for this next scene. Read happily...!

* * *

I was standing in Cuddy's office. Funny how life can repeat itself, isn't it? It was reminding me of being in the principal's office when I was five though twenty-three. Come to think of it, when did I get any learning done? I was such a smartass back then. 

"House, are you listening to me?" Cuddy asked sharply.

I sighed, horrified at her blatant opening. "I was distracted by the pastel tank top you seem to be seducing me with today." Strike that, I'm _still_ a smartass.

She buttoned the top of her suit jacket and leaned forward. "I am shocked at the both of you. Well, House not so much, but _you_ should know better than this. You're the one with real morals!"

I glanced over at the other occupant of the room and stuck out my lip in a mock pout. "You're such a bad influence."

"Shut up, you and I both know that I didn't do anything," Cameron hissed. "Why didn't you warn me?"

"I didn't think it was as important," I shrugged.

"Stop whispering! Office romances are strictly forbidden, doubly so because you directly influence Dr. Cameron's paycheck. _And_ you were discussing it in front of a patient! How irresponsible can you get?"

I raised my hands in surrender. "Alright, Cuddy, I confess, a patient saw someone they thought was me telling someone they thought had the last name Cameron that I loved them. There, are you happy?"

"The hell I am! Listen, I'm glad that you found someone House, really. However, I'm afraid that I'll have to fire the both of you unless you end this affair this instant!" She stood up and stomped around her desk, getting right in my face.

"I just can't do that, I'm afraid," I said sadly, affecting a sob. "You see, I'm deeply in love with this other person and I can't give up on them."

She blinked and glared at me. "Why are you saying it like that? She's right in the room."

I leaned in close and whispered, "Yeah, but this way she doesn't know we're talking about her."

"Dr. Cuddy, the truth is-" Cameron began. I glared at her and pressed a finger to my lips. She glared right back and said, "The two people lied about their names."

"Are you implying that what we have together means nothing?" I said.

Cuddy was studying the other girl. "House, not another word. Dr. Cameron, the full story, please."

Cameron took a deep breath. "House, can I say the person's name? This'll be hard otherwise."

"Absolutely not," I answered immediately.

She sighed. "Fine. Okay, House is in love with…someone. He confessed to them, but they refused him, and then, in the patient's room, they 'discussed' it."

"As in had an argument, according to the patient," Cuddy filled in. "What about this morning? He had a tie on, for God's sake!"

She looked nervous. "Well, the person spent the night at House's apartment, but nothing happened…"

Cuddy looked thoughtful for a moment, then surprised, shocked. "You mean…" she turned back to me, but I was looking straight at the wall and didn't glance away. "House, he's your best friend!"

I laughed once, and tilted my head back to look at the ceiling. "Not anymore."

Cameron tugged on Cuddy's arm, and they retreated to the far corner of the room, presumably to have hours and hours of girl talk. I promptly left the room.

* * *

"Hello, brudda," I said as I walked into the consult room next to my office and saw Foreman sitting in one of the chairs. As I poured myself some coffee, I said, "I suppose you're having a great day, right? Lots of women that are so sure they found a lump that they need you to feel for one too, right?" 

He let the medical journal he was reading fall to the desk. "You're not one to talk. I hear that Cameron finally confessed to you in an exam room."

"Hah, nope, she's all yours, pimp daddy. The rest of the rumor is that both of those doctors lied about their names to protect themselves. Fun, right? If only, if only."

He looked at me for a moment, and shrugged. "If you're going to pretend that she hasn't told you, then far be it from me to hint at it."

I stood looking away from him, glaring at the blank whiteboard. After a moment's heistation, I picked up a red marker and wrote _Symptoms_ across the top. "How can you tell if someone is lying?"

"Oh, you're actually thinking about it now? I thought you just assumed that everyone was lying and went on from there." He craned his neck to see around me, and eventually asked, "Why, do we have a case?"

"Nope, I'm just trying to separate a lie from the truth." I wrote _the only one?_, and, below that, _mixed signals: anger at wrong times/trying hard to stay natural._

"Who do you think is lying to you, then?" Foreman stood and walked around me to see.

Didn't tell location, didn't want to see.

"Not telling. From this so far, what do you think? Lie or the truth?"

"What would the lie be?"

"That the person doesn't love me."

"From this? I think it's true that they don't love you."

"Damn. I'll think up some more." I stared at the words, trying to remember…

Was trying to make a decision  
Said 'I don't love you'  
Wanted to be friends/not friends anymore  
Calm at first discussion, ticked at second  
Recently divorced /doesn't want to be hurt (?)  
Punched me/wouldn't believe

"Whoa, whoa," he said, pointing at the latest thing. "Wouldn't believe what?"

"Um, when I said I loved them?"

As he stared, I wrote the last thing. _I lied first, could be getting back_.

"Right. How about now?"

He read things over. "I think that there's a good chance he might be lying."

I dropped the pen. "He?"

"Well, yeah, it's Wilson, right? You've both been crushing on each other for longer than I've worked here."

I stared at him, open-mouthed, until I just walked into my office and sat down, leaving the marker where it lay on the floor.

* * *

Hah. Review, please! So far, there's been about one review for every hundred views... 


	11. Without Hesitation

Any mentioned events from an episode are from "Love Hurts". It's not necessary to have seen it; I think I explain things alright. Oh, and, I'm in shock right now. It's only recently occured to me that this story is going to get over one hundred reviews. This is my most popular story (the second being Akito's Love, with 3500 views and 58 reviews), and I want to thank all of you for supporting me and motivating me to get this done before school starts. Um, if I don't, I might never finish...haha. Read happily!

* * *

Sitting in my office the next day, I sat up suddenly from staring at the ceiling and looked at Cameron and Foreman on the other side of the room. "Tell me something, minions," - they hate it when you call them that, "where's the other one?" 

They glanced at each other for a moment. "The other what?" Cameron eventually asked.

"You know, there's the bleeding heart, and the know-it-all, and the British wit guy. Where's that one? I haven't seen him around for a while, which is odd, since he's supposed to work for me." I raised my cane and pointed it at Foreman, ordering, "Go forth and find him, Blackiboo."

He rolled his eyes and pulled open the door. "Don't forget, you're meeting Wilson for lunch, aren't you?"

I made a face at him and mimicked his words in the form of 'blah's. That's always a favorite; you've got to love to classics. Once he was out of sight of the glass walls, though, I turned to Cameron and said, "Tell me what to say to him."

She dropped her face into her palm, almost as though she had expected this. "You went on a date with me, before. Don't tell me you can't tie your own tie."

"Um, first of all, of course I can tie a tie. I just prefer it to be done by someone that actually has practice _not_ choking themselves to death. Second of all, when I went on a date with you, I asked our Casanova himself for tips."

She laughed, shaking her head. "We all remember how well that turned out."

I closed my eyes in fake remembrance. "That was some fun sex though. We should try it again sometime."

"If you keep talking like that, Wilson'll kill me and I'll still get fired for an affair."

"You're right. That's a problem. Why get fired for something you never did?" I lifted my eyebrows suggestively, utterly joking. There was no one for me but my Wilson, don't get confused!

She sighed. "You've had conversations for the last ten years, and then, the instant you love him and think that he might feel the same, you utn into a girl?"

"Pathetic, we've been over this." I grew queasy as a thought struck. "If we're not friends anymore, are we still having lunch?"

"You are," Foreman said as he walked back in the door. "I found Chase. He was talking to Wilson, of all things. He knows, by the way," he added, giving all present a smug little smirk.

"It would be hard not to, the way you go around mouthing off," I grumbled, pinching the bridge of my nose. Damn, now I would actually have to have a conversation with Jimmy. About what, I wonder? "It's worse because it doesn't even count as a date. It's just lunch, so I have to act as though it really _is_ just lunch to me."

Both of them ignored me. Cameron said, "Wait, Chase is talking to Wilson? Why?"

Foreman leaned back against the wall and sighed. "Well, House has got the both of us, right? Wilson just lost his best friend, I guess. Sometimes you just need someone to talk at."

"I didn't know Chase had it in him," she murmured softly.

"Ew, don't start with that kind of talk," I scolded immediately. "He probably has horrible teeth, you know how the English are. Bad kisser, I'd lay money on it."

"You're just jealous that Chase is the one talking to Wilson right now," Foreman teased. "After all, who knows where a thing like that might lead."

Cameron, hand over her mouth, turned away to stifle a sudden case of the giggles.

"Shut up, both of you. I still don't know what to say."

"Talk about…some random patient. Make one up, if you have to. Make it funny." Foreman was looking out the window, apparently disinterested.

Cameron nodded quickly, "You know how seeing him smile always cheers you up."

I looked between them, shocked. "How long has this little love affair rumor been running, anyway?"

"It's obviously not just a rumor, and it's obviously been building for years."

I fell to thinking, dangerous though it has been proven to be. If everyone knew I loved Wilson before I did, had the boy wonder himself figured it out a long time ago? Would it have been better to just not say anything at all?

Cameron eventually said, "Wait, Wilson was helping you on that date we went on? As in, he was encouraging you to go?"

I looked up, not understanding. "Were you too busy thinking about Chase to notice when I said that before?"

"No, I'm just asking, because he talked to me about it on the exact same day."

Foreman turned his head to actually look at her now, and I twirled my cane in my hand. "I guess this is the part where I ask what he said?"

"He told me to be careful not to break your heart," she laughed, looking all caring. "He was worried that it would be the last time you tried to love someone."

"As if I could really be that fragile," I scoffed. He had been out fighting battles for me?

Was that the action of a concerned friend, or…?

"House, are you sure that you're honestly in love with him?" Foreman asked unexpectedly. "This could be bad if you're only getting fondness mixed up with rest-of-your-life stuff."

Wilson complaining about buying me lunch, but doing it anyway. Wilson joking with me, steadily growing more sarcastic the longer he talks with me. Wilson leaving a message on his machine specifically for me…because I'm the only friend that calls him at home.

"I'm sure," I answered, dead serious, for the first time in recorded history.

"Good," Cameron smiled. "God knows, you two idiots deserve each other."


	12. Without Confidence

What? Don't want to review any longer? Anyway, I'm uploading this new chapter in the same day...since it's written and all...heheh.

* * *

He was already sitting down in the cafeteria as I came in the room. I walked the line and bought my own meal, missing the tradition-ish way that Jimmy had always paid. He was in the same room, and I still missed him. Or maybe I missed the days before I 'confessed' (Cameron, upon drawing up the basic storyline, had insisted on calling it such a girly thing).

I set my tray down at his table and took a seat, glancing at the pair behind him. Foreman and Cameron were sitting there, a stack of cue cards on the surface before the dermatologist. She raised the first one, and I read, _Say hello, don't just sit there._

"Hi," I said, overly happy.

I saw his eyes look at something behind me before he said, "How's clinic duty going?"

Before I could ask how he knew I had had it that day, I read off a card, "It was hilarious, a woman confused an infected bee sting with herpes."

He raised an eye brow at me and deadpanned "That's very funny, House. I can't believe it."

"I got to look." I shrugged, reading, _Is he jealous?_ "I had fun, at least. Maybe Clinic isn't so bad after all."

He choked into his coffee and looked up, but he looked past me again and apparently changed his mind about what he wanted to say. "I haven't exactly been having a great day, myself. There aren't as many confused women lifting their skirts in the oncology department. Unless you count cervical cancer, then they're all over me."

God, I couldn't laugh. I _had_ to hold it in. Cervical cancer isn't funny. Maybe it was the way he said it, or that he was just desensitized to it after twenty years. Still, a Jimmy grin (I had missed those, come to think of it) took up residence from ear to ear.

Cameron doubled over with laughter, and handed the next card to Foreman to hold up. _She's laughing because of the look on your face._ Wait, how did they already have that written out? Something was fishy. Still, the next card dictated that I say, "Enjoying work after being gone so long, I take it?"

He looked past me for the third time and said, "It was only two days. Have some patience."

"I waited until the second day to get an address, didn't I?" I was paying more attention to Cameron, who looked up and past me for a moment before sniggering again. Okay, what was behind me? Both Wilson and Giggle Girl kept looking at whatever it was, but Foreman's slightly scolding face hadn't so much as flickered.

Annoyed, I started to turn around, but Jimmy put his hand over mine and, needless to say, I froze. "Um, I wanted to say…thanks?" He asked it in a question, but was looking past me again. What the hell? He nodded, very slightly, and went on, "Yes, thanks for…um, still coming to lunch. Or something."

"Are you high?" I asked, trying to see whether or not his pupils were dilated. I turned around, and nothing was out of the ordinary. "Why do you keep looking past me?"

"Don't worry about it, I'll stop." He took his hand away from mine, looking relieved. I looked at Cameron and Foreman, only to find that Chase had joined them, and the two guys were just finishing some ancient ritual secret handshake. Chase was actually smirking and looking right at me, too.

Wait a minute. Wilson and Cameron were looking past me. When I went to turn around, Wilson delayed me. And now Chase was over there, like magic, and even Foreman had his head on his arms, shaking with laughter. Hadn't Chase been talking Wilson?

That stack of cue cards was bigger than it had been before I'd turned around.

I leaned forward in my seat, and saw Jimmy get nervous. All three lackeys shushed each other and tried to listen in, but I muttered, barely audibly, "Do you really think you need cue cards to talk to me?"

Cameron, the closest, had obviously heard, and had to excuse herself to go laugh out in the hall. Wilson turned beet red, and said, "I'm done eating, are you?"

I looked down at my plate of half-finished egg salad and nodded, standing up. After we had both returned our trays, we walked the halls for about thirty seconds before he said, "That is the last time I let one of your three flying monkeys help me."

"My three flying monkeys were operating without my say," I informed him. "But thanks for the vote of confidence, it's good to know where I stand." Mmm, falling into normal conversation was proving easier than expected. It felt very, very good. "Anyway, there's no shame in cue cards. I assume that Chase was the one that suggested them? It was Foreman, on our team."

"You were using them, too? Chase didn't tell me that!" he said, far louder than necessary in the crowded hall.

"They didn't tell me, either" I reminded him. "I'm just awesome like that." We were almost to his office, and I asked somewhat nonchalantly, "Did Chase really give you orders to grab my hand if I started to turn around?"

He wouldn't meet my eyes. Was that a good sign?

"Sooo," I started again. _Ask him out, maybe to dinner tomorrow,_ my inner cheerleader squealed. _You could make out or something!_ "Are we friends again?"

"You know where I stand on that. I'm not the one that said we weren't."

The Jimmy grin came back, and I shrugged. "Fine, we're friends."

He smiled. I thought I was going to die of the urge to smile back.

After he had gone inside, I gave him enough time to sit down before I stuck my head in the door. "It turns out you're harder to give up cold turkey than anything else."

He cocked his head to the side, not understanding.

I took a deep breath and said, "Let's grab dinner somewhere tomorrow."


	13. Without Sanity

No, this isn't the end. It's aimed to be funny filler. House is adorably paranoid when he wants to be. Look for the last (I plan on it being so, at least) chapter sometime later today.

* * *

I sped all the way to the hospital, leapt off my bike, began to take off my helmet and decided against it. I just hobbled inside as fast as I could. Once I was inside the doors, I took a deep breath and began to take off my riding clothes. I signed in and rushed to my office, where I slowly and painfully crawled under my desk.

I heard the door open and close a few minutes later, but I didn't say anything. After a minute, Chase said, "House, your cane is here. Where are you?"

I reluctantly put my hand up, and he crouched down next to the desk. "House," he said eventually, "what the hell are you doing under the desk? The nurse at the front desk said you came in this morning as though the devil himself was at your heels."

"I'm hiding, duh," I hissed, trying to get him to lower his own volume.

He rolled his eyes and whispered, "From what, I mean."

I glanced from side to side, then leaned forward. "It's the thirteenth chapter, right? I've been cursed. Something bad is bound to happen."

He sighed and stood up again. One of the other conspirators was in the doorway, because Chase said, "Nothing's wrong, it's the normal kid of crazy."

"By our standards or his?" Cameron said.

"Has he _ever_ done something to our standards?"

I yelled, "You just don't know it yet! I'll bet there's going to be an anti-ducky hailstorm in the next few minutes!"

Cameron said, "I find it easier not to ask," just before the door shut and I was alone again.

I just knew it. Something bad would happen, and I needed it to not be during dinner that night. This actually counted as a _date,_ and damn it, it was going to go perfectly!

I sat back and waited for the thirteenth chapter to end, making myself more and more anxious about my last chance to make something work.


	14. Without Conclusion

The final chapter. But, good news, it's the date you've all been waiting for!

* * *

I had agreed to being picked up. I know, girl option, but Jimmy had the wheels in this outfit. I wasn't too keen on having him sit behind me on my bike just before dinner; it might turn my appetite away from food. 

The creepy thing was, all three of the stooges were sitting on my front porch, waiting with me. Chase had tied my tie, Foreman had ordered me out of sneakers and into smooth black dress shoes, and Cameron was coaching me of the different etiquettes when dating a guy. She wasn't telling me how to be the girl, she was telling me what not to do: don't pull out his chair; don't compliment his shoes or something stupid like that.

It was creeping me out. How long had they been expecting this whole 'date' thing to happen? How long had they been preparing to get it just right? _Why hadn't they told me, so I could practice, too?_

Chase looked at his watch, and finally said, "Right, it's six fifty-five. Wilson'll be here in five minutes."

Foreman brought his hands up and dropped them back to his knees in an almost-shrug. "Our work here is done, I guess."

All of them stood up, and Cameron said what the others didn't. "Good luck, House. It'll work out."

They dispersed. I waited by myself for four minutes, wishing simultaneously that Jimmy would be both late and early. Still, it's Jimmy, so he arrive right on time. I had long ago set my watch to him, so the second hand was right the top when I said, "You have a bad habit of coming about five seconds early."

Hee, I could make that into a sexual joke. But then, that might ruin the mood, so I'll leave it in your imagination.

He just grinned and waved me into the car. What could I do except accept the invitation? I got in, and he merged back into traffic. Since there are so very many cars on my street, right?

We got to the restaurant. I was glad that Foreman had gotten dress shoes on me; this was one of those fancy-chancy places with twenty dollar lobster bisque as an appetizer. My stomach twisted itself like an Olympic medalist and I fervently hoped that I wouldn't get sick all over my…date.

Happy thought. The knots settled down.

We were seated (it's great, what 'Dr.' before a name will do with a reservation ledger) and I automatically pulled a chair out before realizing my mistake and sitting down. The nervousness was getting to me. I didn't blush, though, because crabby narcissistic jackasses don't blush. Jimmy, however, seeing the gesture, did.

Good sign, or bad? Did he think I had assumed that he was the girl? It was a sensitive subject, at least to me. I did _not_ want to be the one that giggles and drops handkerchiefs. Hmm, first date was not the time to talk about it.

I took a sip for the wine we recieved, forcing my eyes to wander away from Jimmy as his did the same, saw two people being seated at the table nest to us, carefully swallowed, and set the glass down. Once I was sure that nothing would break if I suddenly released something suspiciously akin to the wine glass, I said, calmly but loud enough for the seated people to hear, "I don't believe in coincidences, you know."

Wilson's eyebrows rose with a question, but then one of the women I had been talking to turn in her seat. "Oh, Greg and James! I didn't know you two were going to be here!"

"Stacey, what are you and Cuddy doing here?" I asked, somewhat coldly. Really, really not the time for this. First date, it had to be perfect!

Stacey just smiled benignly as Cuddy said, "Wilson, I was meaning to ask you. How was your tiny 'vacation'? It was only two days, and House was looking all over for you. It can't have been relaxing."

"Well, it wouldn't have been anyway, since I was in divorce court." Stacey was suddenly very interested in the conversation. Ah, working in the hospital as a legal consultant, when was the last time she had been in court? She should thank me for giving her the opportunity (on more than one occasion).

What? No! I'm getting sidetracked! Must get them to leave!

Wilson was saying, "…And I didn't know he was there. He just said, loud enough for everyone to hear him, 'I object'. I _knew_ that it wasn't going to end well. I tried to stay calm, but House said that he was there as a witness for the murder trial, but they hadn't found out yet…"

Stacey turned back to me, laughing. She really was beautiful, I'll give her that. That just meant I had good taste, though. "Greg, I can't believe you. You're so cute when you get addicted to someone."

Wilson stopped talking and turned to us. Cuddy, having not been listening, to the other conversation, turned as well.

I moved away from her in my chair, sulking. Great, now the night was ruined. She was going to start talking about _that_.

Since Jimmy, Stacey and I had all been there, this was for Cuddy's benefit. "Well, when we first met, Greg and I were just friends. He's never been good at friends, though, and, after about six months, he told me he loved me. It was…a shock, honestly. I hadn't really even considered it."

I took a generous sip of my wine and refused to meet Jimmy's eyes. He was looking right at me, as though he was figuring out the significance of the story in relation to him.

He said, "House talked about you all the time. It was obvious to everyone that he liked you."

"Well, okay, it had occurred to me, and I was attracted to him, so I agreed to go out with him. A few years later, we all know what happened."

Yes, we had met Cuddy by then. Yes, that was when the leg thing happened. Don't talk about it anymore. The night's already gone.

"He changed after that, and I couldn't change with him, so that was the end of it." She stopped talking for a moment and looked between us. "What are you guys doing here, anyway?"

I still refused to look at any of them. Obviously not on anything close to a date anymore. Jimmy wouldn't admit to something like that, anyway. Who was I fooling?

"Um, actually, we're on a date," Jimmy said, almost casually. I nearly passed out.

Judging by their knowing smiles, both had assumed it. Stacey smiled, looking at me. "So, you finally brought him around, James? That only took ten years."

What the hell?

I couldn't hear straight for a little while, but when I came back to myself, Jimmy had convinced them to leave us be. I just stared at him for a few seconds, mouth open.

Finally, I said, "Has everyone just been setting up this whole set of events?"

Jimmy look sheepish for a moment, and said, "None of it was planned until you said…that…and after I'd punched you."

"But everything after it was?"

"Um…pretty much?"

I stared at him for longer this time. He fidgeted with his napkin, and eventually said, "Are you mad?"

"James, I love you." I realized I had said it a short while later. "I mean, not that I'm trying-"

"I love you, too," he mumbled. I stopped talking.

I almost passed out again.

The conversation, for the rest of dinner, was filled with the small talk that I so loathed - that is, I loathed it right up until it saved me from saying anything _very_ humiliating.

* * *

We were parked outside of my house, in silence, for five minutes. At the end of the five minutes, I opened the door and stood up. Looking back expectantly, I said, "Well? Walk me to my door." 

"What, are you the girl now?" he asked as I was looking for my keys. So he _had_ been considering it. He laughed as I gave him a dirty look, and shifted his weight from foot to foot.

Screw the keys.

I grabbed his collar, shoved him against the door, and kissed him. After a second of stunned silence, he kissed back, and I groaned in the back of my throat.

Thirty seconds later, I was as close to him as physically possible (trust me, we're both doctors, we _know_ these things), my tongue was in his mouth, and his hands were on my hips. I pulled away, both of us breathing heavily, and said, "If I'm the girl, why are _you_ the one pressed against _my_ door?"

He laughed more and pulled me back.

Maybe one more small addiction won't be so bad.


End file.
